Convinced of My Deception
by Cinaed Born Of Fire
Summary: *Draco/Ron Slash* Draco Malfoy has joined Dumbledore’s side as the Final Battle draws near… The wizarding world is in chaos, but so is Draco’s heart and mind. A certain Weasley has been recruited to help Draco confront his demons.
1. Part One

(Author's Notes: A Ron/Draco fic that will end up developing into a chaptered fic though I don't know how long it will be. There will be short scenes of Neville/Harry and Remus/Severus. This fic is based off the song "Frail" by Jars of Clay. If you would like to learn the lyrics or don't know them in the first place (they're an excellent Christian band), copy and paste the following link: http://www.angelfire.com/or/christianmusic/frail.html. Anyway, this is dedicated to Cye's Girl (better known as Lady), since she's obsessed with Draco/Ron at the moment and I needed to give her a present for Christmas!  
  
Summary: Draco Malfoy has joined Dumbledore's side as the Final Battle draws near. The wizarding world is in chaos, but so is Draco's heart and mind. The Malfoy must confront his demons if he's truly going to be loyal to Dumbledore, and a certain Weasley has been recruited by Dumbledore to help him confront them.  
  
Disclaimers: All of these characters belong to Rowling, who (surprise!) isn't me. Look, people, if I was Rowling, I'd be rolling around in a pool filled with money instead of writing fan fiction.. I mean, really.  
  
Warnings: This story contains slash. This means male/male relationships. If homosexuality or bisexuality is against your religion or simply against your ethics, please don't read this. If you do and send a flame, I will show it to Lady and laugh at your stupidity with her. Thank you.  
  
~Cinaed)  
  
Convinced of My Deception  
  
By Cinaed  
  
The scenery around the three figures was lovely in and out of itself. The trio stood on the top of a hill that was surrounded by small knolls, all of the tor covered in lush green grass that any innocent child would laugh and immediately throw himself upon so that they could roll in the softness and watch for striking, exotic butterflies that might dance among the bright wildflowers that poked up from amid the grasses. It was a clear, sunny day, the bright blueness a sharp match to one of the trio's eye color; there wasn't a cloud in the sky, seemingly whisked away by the light, soothing breeze that ruffled the small cluster's tresses in a mild gesture.  
  
Nevertheless, there was enough storminess in two of the trio's eyes and features to ruin the lovely prospect of a photograph of the afternoon location. The smallest and youngest of the group's gray eyes were blazing with defiance as he repeated the words that had caused a dark scowl to form on the other, irate man's pale visage.  
  
"I refuse to be a Death Eater, Father." The words were matter-of-fact, contradicting the intense emotions the pale blonde was actually feeling.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, boy," snapped the other blonde, who resembled the teenager in nearly every way apart from their age differences. There could be no doubt to anyone who might have been there to watch that they were father and son.  
  
"I'm not being silly, Father." The teen was relentless, only his blanched visage revealing how much this talk was taking out of him. "I'm thinking on my own. A Malfoy is supposed to be clever, isn't he?" Scorn laced the question, and Lucius Malfoy's gaze darkened.  
  
"You little-" Instead of a snap, the man was practically snarling, a flush on his otherwise pasty cheeks. It was on pure instinct that he raised a hand, meaning to strike the insolent boy across that similar visage, and it was only then that the third member of the tête-à-tête reacted. Pale blue robes shifted, the same color as the sky, as the oldest of the group drew his wand and pointed it at Lucius.  
  
"I would lower my hand if I were you, Lucius," was said calmly, though the wizard's eyes were blazing like the bright sun that was beating down on their heads, only pale azure instead of a flaming yellowish-orange. "I might not use the Unforgivable Curses, but I can make you very miserable."  
  
Burning gray eyes turned to narrow in hatred at the older wizard before Lucius hissed out, sounding almost like a serpent, "Damn you, you cursed old man! I should have sent the brat to Durmstrang despite his mother!"  
  
The wizard gave no response to the words that dripped with hatred, and after a moment Lucius lowered his hand, clenching the pale member into an incensed fist. Once the hand had dropped to the older Malfoy's side, the silver-haired wizard glanced in the direction of Lucius' son, his words as serene as ever. "Draco, Apparate to the destination we discussed earlier, please."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Lucius demanded even as the silvery-blond youth nodded. "Draco's too young to-" He stopped dead when his son Apparated from the site. Gray eyes widened in shock before he scowled with venom at one of his most-hated enemies. "Who taught him that?"  
  
"I did." Gray clashed with blue as the two adversaries locked gazes for a long moment.  
  
"Damn you, and all of Hogwarts! The Dark Lord will kill you and all your pathetic Mudblood-lovers! Just you wait and see!"  
  
A small, knowing smile curved the old man's visage. "I'm sure he'll try, Lucius," was said softly before the wizard Apparated away, leaving the blonde all along on the scenic hill.  
  
Lucius closed his eyes tightly, numb fingers finally digging into his pockets for his wand to return to the Malfoy Manor, even as he mumbled to no one, "You didn't hear me out, Dumbledore. The Dark Lord will kill you and all your pathetic Mudblood-lovers, but I will be the one to perform the Killing Curse upon Draco. It will be I who kills my traitor of a son."  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Draco Disapparated into Diagon Alley, ignoring curious looks directed his way at his disheveled appearance and ashen countenance. The thin blonde found the nearest bench and crumpled onto the smooth surface, burying his head in trembling hands. His quivering frame showed signs of his obvious distress, but no one moved to reassure him that he had done the right thing until the gentle hand of Albus Dumbledore fell upon that shaking shoulder.  
  
"You did the right thing, Draco."  
  
"Sure I did," was said bitterly, the blonde not bothering to glance at the man. His words were dripping with self-loathing. "It was /really/ the right thing to betray my father and run away like a childish coward."  
  
"You /are/ a child, Draco, and you weren't being a coward."  
  
"I consider someone of seventeen years to be an adult."  
  
"Well, I don't, and you'll find that most people don't either."  
  
"Lovely," drawled Draco, sounding much more like his old self as he raised his face towards the headmaster of Hogwarts, only pink streaks on his pale cheeks to give any clue that he might have been weeping. "So I'm old enough to backstab my father but I'm not old enough to be considered an adult?"  
  
"You didn't backstab your father, Draco. You made a decision that you felt was true to yourself; however, it wasn't a decision that your father approved of. You would be betraying /yourself/ if you didn't hold true to your own beliefs." Dumbledore's tone was gentle.  
  
"He let him kill Mother.. He just stood there and let the Dark Lord torture her and kill her." The low, strained whisper was so soft that the headmaster wasn't sure he heard the plaintive words correctly. "Just to get rid of his debt.."  
  
"I'm sorry, Draco."  
  
A hoarse, bitter laugh was the blonde's response before he stood, attempting a sneer that belied the pain in those gray orbs as he gazed up at Dumbledore. "Don't pity me," was said flatly. "I'll make the Dark Lord pay, if it's the last thing I do. I'm only on your side because I'm going to have my revenge, and you're out to kill him too."  
  
Dumbledore didn't say anything to act in response to Draco's straightforward words, and instead glanced around at the bustling crowd. It was mid-summer, and many were buying their school clothes in a vain, frantic attempt to beat the multitudes. "I'll take you to your room in The Leaky Cauldron."  
  
"Fine." The short, sharp word could have slashed the velvety flesh that Draco flaunted as he ran a hand through his silvery-blond locks, could have sliced through that pale flesh and sent dark blood dripping onto the gray stone walkway beneath his feet.  
  
Dumbledore ignored the young man's tone, and instead waved a hand in the direction of the pub where the Malfoy would be spending the rest of his summer, much in the manner that Harry Potter had before his third year. Blue eyes watched the teen carefully as Draco lifted his head in defiance and stalked towards The Leaky Cauldron, distaste obvious in the teenager's curled lip.  
  
The headmaster of Hogwarts could barely keep from letting a sigh escape his lips. Although he knew he could put up with the Malfoy's antics and malicious temper, he wasn't sure if the rest of his companions would be able to.  
  
Actually, somehow he doubted they would be.  
  
Another sigh hovering on his lips, Dumbledore followed after the promenading teen. The superiority in the flaunt of those slender hips was just one of the quirks that would irritate many of his companions, not to mention the way that he tossed his head in contempt at the sight of The Leaky Cauldron.  
  
"/That/ is where I'll be staying?" Derision dripped from every word.  
  
"Yes, Draco." As composed as ever, the headmaster offered him a slight smile before he bowed and Apparated away, leaving the blonde standing, alone, in front of the pub.  
  
Gray eyes studied the building, and a low, plaintive sound issued from the teenager's full, pale lips. "My life is hell," he declared to no one, and no one bothered to reply.  
  
(To be continued) 


	2. Part Two

(Author's Thanks: lecada chan, JazzPizza, and Edana for reviewing.  
  
Summary: Draco Malfoy has joined Dumbledore's side as the Final Battle draws near. The wizarding world is in chaos, but so is Draco's heart and mind. The Malfoy must confront his demons if he's truly going to be loyal to Dumbledore, and a certain Weasley has been recruited by Dumbledore to help him confront them.  
  
Disclaimers: All of these characters belong to Rowling, who (surprise!) isn't me. Look, people, if I was Rowling, I'd be rolling around in a pool filled with money instead of writing fan fiction.. I mean, really.  
  
Warnings: This story contains slash. This means male/male relationships. If homosexuality or bisexuality is against your religion or simply against your ethics, please don't read this. If you do and send a flame, I will show it to Lady and laugh at your stupidity with her. Thank you.  
  
Author's Notes: Sorry about taking a while with this chapter. I could write it perfectly fine, but when I'd reread over it, I'd hate the lack of imagination in it, and delete half of it in a fit of writer's angst. Here's the final revision. I just won't mention how many times I redid the entire chapter. *sheepish look*  
  
Oh, and the *-*-*-*-*-*-*-* symbols mean that we've switched to another person's POV. The story will stay in third person, but which each of these symbols we can delve deeper into the mind of that person. Oh, you'll see what I mean once you start reading. Enjoy the latest part of Convinced of My Deception!  
  
~Cinaed)  
  
Convinced of My Deception  
  
By Cinaed  
  
Draco Malfoy's upper lip was curled in distaste as he entered the room which he would be occupying for the next few weeks. A real Malfoy wouldn't have been caught dead in the room that was rather cheery but much smaller than his bedroom at the Malfoy Manner. The creamy walls were a color that no Malfoy in their right mind would have chosen to coat even the borders of a room with.  
  
"Oh, Dumbledore certainly knows /my/ taste in rooms," he sneered, well aware that he shouldn't be talking out loud to himself. Gray eyes caught sight of a silver envelope resting on the white pillow that adorned his butter-colored bed, a refreshing blankness that offset the horrible buttery color of the rest of the room. After a moment's hesitation, the teen reached out and picked up the envelope with slender fingers. He quickly read the letter, his lips pursing in a gesture that was half-amused at the headmaster's stupidity, half-scornful at the older man's senility. Nevertheless, he obeyed the letter's orders, moving to stand right in front of the gaudy mirror that had too many fake jewels adorning it.  
  
Draco scowled into the mirror, and then jumped a little as the mirror said dryly, "I love you too, boy." His pale cheeks flushed, but he didn't retort, instead snatching up the blue baseball cap that was resting on the dresser next to the mirror. His visage betrayed his distaste at the American cap; even so, he fitted the Muggle hat atop his silvery-blond crown of hair and glanced at himself in the mirror. In Draco's opinion, he now looked like a complete and total moron, with his robes and Muggle cap contradicting each other. Wondering why the headmaster had told him to wear such a ridiculous Muggle article of clothing, he sighed and slipped on the sunglasses that would almost complete the outfit. Great, now he looked like a mixture of an American jock and troublemaker. Sneering at his reflection, he finished the outfit by changing from his robes to a white T-shirt, a leather jacket, ragged blue jeans, and a pair of old sneakers.  
  
"Oh my!" declared the mirror in an almost gasp.  
  
"What're you talking about?" growled out the blonde as he moved to gaze at himself in the stunned mirror. "Shit!" The Slytherin gawked at his reflection, all arrogance wiped away in that moment of shock.  
  
No longer did he look even remotely like Draco Malfoy. In his place stood a tall, muscular rebel with startled (and startling) blue eyes as his sunglasses slid down to the tip of his nose. Dressed in the same clothes that a certain Malfoy had just donned, his tresses were down to his shoulders and colored jet-black. Instead of fair flesh, this rebellious teenager was tanned from hours out in the sun.  
  
Draco moved his hand in front of his eyes, and gazed at the now brown skin for a long moment. After a long pause, his lips quirked into a half-smile. "Remarkable disguise, Dumbledore." He jumped at the suddenly deep voice. Apparently Dumbledore had used the outfit to disguise his voice too. Shaking his head, the masquerading young man moved to collapse onto the butter-colored bed. He had a feeling the rest of his life had suddenly gotten much more interesting.  
  
~~A little over a month later~~  
  
"Goodbye, Harry!" The final words of Mrs. Weasley were stolen away by the wind as Harry waved to her. The plump, cheerful mother of his best friend offered him an affectionate smile before she vanished, Apparating back to the safe house where she and Arthur lived and where the rest of the Weasley crew had lived during the summer, out of Voldemort and his Death Eaters' grasps.  
  
The black-haired seventh year turned to see Ron board the train, his brilliant red locks catching the sun and seemingly bursting into flame before he ducked inside, the cerise tendrils returning to their normal moderate red out of the sun. Grinning, the Boy-Who-Lived hauled his trunk in after him; Hedwig was nestled comfortably in her cage in a separate compartment with the rest of the animals. It would be good to be back at Hogwarts. Although he had felt safe at the Weasley safe house, he had had a nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right all summer. Not to mention that Voldemort's deadly rampages made him crumple every couple of days, clutching at his cursed scar in agony while Ron and the rest of the Weasley brood could only look on helplessly.  
  
He dragged his heavy trunk into the last compartment and glanced around even as the door shut behind him and the train slowly began its trek towards Hogwarts. The compartment was empty, save Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and himself.  
  
"Hermione, how was your summer?" he asked as soon as they had gotten settled. Emerald green eyes danced with roguish mirth. "Besides the enormous event of your becoming Head Girl, of course."  
  
Before the bushy-haired brunette could respond, a horrified groan filled the compartment, and the quartet jumped. "Don't tell me Granger's Head Girl!" The deep voice came from a corner, and Harry squinted, only then realizing that there was a figure there.  
  
"Who's there?" Ron demanded, scowling in the direction of the corner, his cerulean eyes searching for the challenger of his best friend's reputation.  
  
The formerly unnoticed person sat forward, at last catching the light of the compartment. It was a black-haired, tanned boy who Harry had never met before, but he wore an unpleasant sneer that seemed eerily familiar. "I am. Got a problem with that, Weasel?" He was dressed in a rebellious Muggle outfit, with a leather jacket to boot, his wand twirling absently between long, slender fingers.  
  
"As a matter of fact I do!" Ron's freckled visage had turned bright pink by the time the question had been issued, splotches of rose pink vivid amid his numerous freckles. "Listen, whoever you are, we don't appreciate jerks like you in our compartment."  
  
"It's a free country, Weasel, and I was here first." The drawling, deep words had a tone of familiarity, but Harry couldn't quite place the tone. The boy pushed his sunglasses down long enough to give them a defiant look with his bright blue eyes.  
  
"So?"  
  
"Oh, what a brilliant comeback, Weasel-" The sneering teen didn't have a chance to finish his mordant reply as the compartment doors slid open with quiet sounds and three familiar figures walked in. Harry gazed in bewilderment, searching for another familiar person to make it the normal foursome. There was no sign of the short blonde. Since when had Pansy Parkinson become the ringleader for Goyle and Crabbe instead of Draco Malfoy? He noticed the unfamiliar person had abruptly fallen silent.  
  
Parkinson smirked as her beady, remorseless eyes landed on the group. "Well, well, well, who do we have here? The Boy Who Lived and his little pets." She ignored Ron's low, warning growl and instead peered at the boy in the corner, the beady eyes sparking with cruel interest. "And who're you?"  
  
"None of your business," hissed out the brunet, glaring at her and scrunching back into the corner in an almost retreat. "I was just telling Potter and his gang of clowns to get lost. Why don't you get out too?" His tone dripped with aversion, and Harry wondered if the brunet liked /anyone/.  
  
"Who made you the boss of us?" Parkinson demanded, scowling at the egotistical teenager, who laughed mockingly in return but didn't retort. She nodded towards Crabbe and Goyle, who stepped forward to block Harry's view of the cocky brunet. "I said, who do you think you are?"  
  
"Don't try to threaten me, bitch," snapped the teenager, and Harry could hear him standing as his leather jacket made soft rustling noises that seemed almost loud in the hushed compartment. The silence was shattered once more when the brunet continued. "I don't have to answer you or your backstabbing cronies."  
  
Parkinson eyed him for a moment before a malicious smirk twisted her lips, making her face decidedly unpleasant to look at. "Vincent, Gregory, why don't you two show this misinformed Mudblood how good of cronies you are?"  
  
"Er, what?" She had lost Crabbe on that, and beside Harry, Ron bit back a snicker.  
  
"I mean rough him up a little, moron." Parkinson's tone was harsh with impatience and a hint of incredulity at her cronies' stupidity.  
  
"Oh, right." The two hulking Slytherin moved closer, and Harry heard the brunet growl something under his breath. In the next instant, Goyle and Crabbe were tumbling head over heels; the duo crashed against the other side of the compartment and made it shudder violently from the dual impacts.  
  
With Goyle and Crabbe sprawled on the floor, the Gryffindor group had clear view of the stranger now; but he was no longer a stranger. Instead the brunet had shrunk and been replaced by the very familiar Draco Malfoy. His sunglasses and hat were on the floor, the blue cap and the dark glasses seeming almost forlorn by the blonde's feet.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Draco kept his wand pointed directly at Pansy. He had never liked the clingy bitch. He noticed, from the corner of his eyes, that the Gryffindor gaggle looked thunderstruck. The Slytherin glanced down and noticed that his flesh was pale once more. The disguise must have vanished when Crabbe and Goyle had yanked his sunglasses and cap off. Muttering a profane word under his breath, the teenager raised an eyebrow, trying to enjoy Pansy's shock. He should get used to calling her Parkinson, shouldn't he? After all, she was now his enemy. That, however, did not mean he had to call the Gryffindor gaggle anything remotely near their given names. He raised an eyebrow that betrayed his smugness at her look of disbelief. "Surprised, Parkinson?"  
  
"D-Draco?" His fellow Slytherin seemed to be in shock for a moment, and the Malfoy smirked faintly. After that initial moment of disbelief, Parkinson regained her composure and sneered, her face twisting into a hideous mask of hatred. At that moment, Draco was very glad that he had been disowned by his father and gotten out of marriage with her. She reminded him of gray gargoyles that been fixed in convulsions of agony as they clung with frantic, knobby fingers to the spires of the Malfoy Manor, the ones that had been there for hundreds of years and had eventually been covered by grime, which only enhanced their hideousness. "You're actually showing your face around Hogwarts? You must have a death wish."  
  
The blonde laughed a harsh, hollow laugh that made the older Weasley in the compartment jump at the void resonance. "I have a death wish for only one person, Parkinson, and you know who that is."  
  
"Your father?" Parkinson inquired, her words dripping with sarcasm as she earned a pair of rolled eyes.  
  
"Very funny, bitch. Where /did/ you get that sense of humor?" If Parkinson's words dripped with scorn than the Malfoy's was saturated with it.  
  
"From you, my former fiancé." The female Slytherin's voice was sickeningly sweet, enough that Draco was reminded of the time he had received eight pounds of candy for Christmas and had attempted to devour every piece within the week. By the fourth day, the taste of chocolate had been cloying and nauseating. The young blonde had refused to have another bonbon or toffee for a whole two months, and it took another month after that for him to choke down a piece of chocolate. Even now, more than a couple candies at a time made him queasy.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
"Gross." The word was out of Ron's mouth before he realized what he was doing. Both Parkinson and Malfoy glanced over at him, their expressions suggesting they were quite preoccupied, and for a moment the Weasley fought the urge to blush. Instead, he glowered back without another word and refused to take back his comment. The mental image of the two together was indeed a repulsive sight to consider, and as soon as the two Slytherin seventh-years returned to glaring daggers at each other, the Gryffindor shuddered and tried to chase the horrific image from his head.  
  
"You can't possibly expect to be welcomed in the Slytherin House, Draco."  
  
"I don't," was said matter-of-factly. "But I'm not about to be frightened away from my seventh year at Hogwarts because of my Slytherin brethren." A pleased smirk curved the blonde's lips that made Ron instinctively want to hit him, as he added, in a tone of total complacency, "After all, Hogwarts needs its Head Boy, doesn't it?"  
  
"/You're/ Head Boy?" Hermione and Harry cried out as one, both sounding horrified. Ron and Ginny were both too stunned to speak.  
  
Malfoy turned a smirk upon the quartet, looking extremely pleased with himself. "It's quite interesting how having nothing to do during the summers can help you get ahead in classes and get fairly decent grades."  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Draco bit the inside of his cheek to bite back a snicker at the aghast looks on the Gryffindor gaggle's faces. He simply would 'forget' to mention that his father had forced him to study like a mad demon in the hopes that his son would get better grades than Granger the Mudblood. Well, he was still behind Granger, but he had scraped together the best grades of the male section of his year since the rest of them were lazy gits, and so he had been honored with being Head Boy. Much to the dismay of McGonagall and pleasure of Snape, naturally.  
  
"You mean we're going to have to work together?" Granger said, looking quite ill at the thought. Her flesh had a greenish tinge to the normally vigorous hue and her mouth was compressed so tightly like McGonagall that her lips had all but disappeared, replaced by a white streak against a greenish visage.  
  
"Yes, and I'll treasure every moment of it, Mudblood." The sardonic words flowed from his lips easily and he ignored Weasley's low growl. Silvery eyes flickered back to Parkinson, and did a near double-take. Since when had Goyle and Crabbe learned the art of stealth? The lumbering oafs were back at Parkinson's side, their glares focused on him. Draco shoved any feeling of uneasiness aside for the moment as he ordered, "Get lost, Parkinson. You know I can best you and these two in a duel."  
  
"Ah, but you don't have a second, do you?" Parkinson commented with more than a hint of malicious glee in her words.  
  
The blonde's lips curved into another faint smirk as his overconfidence returned to its full degree. "I don't need one. /Expelliarmus/!" Parkinson's wand wrenched itself from her hand and Draco deftly caught it, the wood warm and moist from her sweating palms. "/Expelliarmus/!" Goyle's wand joined Parkinson's in the blonde's grip. If the witch's wand was damp, then Goyle's was slick. Almost lazily, he added, "/Expelliarmus/!" to steal away Crabbe's. Smirking at the disarmed witch and wizards, he raised an eyebrow and waited for a retort, attempting to ignore the horrible fact that he was holding three sticky wands in one hand. If they had to sweat, couldn't they have worn gloves like civilized people?  
  
Parkinson's face turned crimson with rage and she glared venomously at her former fiancé, resembling a goblin more than a gargoyle this time when Draco mused on it. "You'll pay for that, Draco."  
  
"Really. Sounds like an idle threat to me, Parkinson," drawled the blonde, the smirk never leaving his face. He kept his eyes trained on Goyle and Crabbe, waiting for any sudden movements. Even with wands, the duo usually resorted to brute force, and if Draco was caught by surprise, he knew they were stronger in the area of physical strength. Not to mention that they had at least a foot each on him in height and many, many pounds.  
  
The compartment door slid open, and his silvery gray eyes met the surprised hazel eyes of a very different Neville Longbottom than he remembered.  
  
"Harry, Hermione-" The seventeen-year-old who looked nothing like he had the spring of their sixth year froze, gazing into Draco's eyes and taking a step back, out of the compartment so that no one could see his altered features. "Um, this is probably a bad time-"  
  
"Yes, it is," the blonde agreed coolly, raising an eyebrow at the transformed but still bumbling Gryffindor. Unfortunately, he had done exactly what he had warned himself not to do, and had allowed himself to get distracted.  
  
Needless to say, Crabbe took the opportunity to punch Draco in the stomach.  
  
Four wands clattered on the ground as the blonde doubled over, gasping as all of his breath left him with that painful clout. A part of him was mildly impressed at the fact that Crabbe had needed no prompting from Pansy, but the rest of him was just focused on breathing. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out-  
  
"Not so cocky now, are you, Draco?"  
  
Breathe in. Breathe out. Get the wand and kill the bloody bitch. Breathe in. Breathe Out.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Ron's view of Malfoy was blocked by Crabbe and Goyle's hulking figures, but everyone had seen Crabbe's arm motion and knew that the blond Slytherin had been punched. He could hear the rapid gasps escaping the blonde's lips like a rabbit that had been hunted over hills and through vales by a determined, lethal hawk, and wondered exactly how hard Crabbe had hit him.  
  
"Go get laid, bitch." The rasped comment held the usual scorn within each syllable, but everybody in the compartment could hear the pain he was struggling to hide. "Maybe that'll improve your mood."  
  
"Vincent, Gregory, hit him some more."  
  
The two hulking Slytherin eagerly obeyed, and they had landed about three punches each before Harry shifted beside Ron and stood, training his wand at the trio of abusers and frowning darkly. Ron had grown used to see dark looks on the visage of the Boy-Who-Lived. He had frowned more often than he had smiled during the summer, a tense, apprehensive type of look to his weary face most of the time, especially when one dared and glanced at him when he had thought everyone was busy with other things. The Weasley was secretly relieved that they were back in Hogwarts, as much as he missed his parents and worried about them. Harry was much safer in Hogwarts under Dumbledore's watch.  
  
"Hey, leave him alone and get lost. He's Head Boy, after all." Although Harry still sounded slightly ill at the prospect of Malfoy being Head Boy, his tone held a familiar ring of steel. "He's earned /some/ respect."  
  
"Why, I didn't know you cared, Potter." The hoarse reply came from the hidden Malfoy. His voice was even weaker than before, and had an unpleasant grating sound underlying it that reminded Ron of the time George had fallen off his toy broom and broken a rib. Fred had been inconsolable for an entire three days afterwards, because he had been the one to plant the exploding bouncing ball where a sibling would find it. He hadn't thought that the sibling would be his twin. "Now, get your nose out of my business."  
  
Ron didn't even have to glance at Harry to know the brunet had rolled his eyes in annoyance. He understood his best friend's aggravation. Here Harry was, attempting to help his major rival keep from getting his arse kicked, and the git was telling him to get lost. "Don't /ever/ think I care, but I do think it's entirely unfair for Parkinson to pit Crabbe and Goyle against you." Although the brunet was sincere, there was a hint of exasperation tingeing his words.  
  
Parkinson turned to sneer at Harry, and Ron found himself rising to aim his wand at the unpleasant leer planted on the Slytherin girl's visage. He glowered at Parkinson, and added, the attitude of the redhead commanding and unsympathetic, "You heard Harry; leave the compartment."  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Draco sat, doubled over and clutching his stomach, as he listened to Potter and Weasley stand up for him. What were those two morons doing? His pale fingers grasped through the Muggle fabric, clutching at sensitive skin that would be displaying numerous bruises when he woke up for the first morning at Hogwarts, although his stomach wasn't the area that pained him the most. It was his side, just below his shoulder. One of Vincent's meaty fists had crashed into that agonizing spot, and Draco suspected at least one, if not more, of his ribs had shattered at the impact. At least the broken rib (or ribs) hadn't punctured a lung. He'd probably have been on the floor writhing in suffering if such a thing had occurred, gasping desperately for breath even more so than he was now, and coughing up blood as he bled internally.  
  
He saw Parkinson's squinty eyes narrow to slits in consideration. She was still disarmed, since she hadn't thought to snatch her wand from the floor where it had fallen, so there was no way she could fight Potter. After a moment, she glowered but said, "Vincent, Gregory, let's go. We might get infected with Gryffindor germs." Her tone was rebellious, and Draco knew this wasn't the last of Parkinson and her newest cronies.  
  
Ah well, the Malfoy hadn't expected life to be easy after he had backstabbed his father.  
  
Silvery gray eyes that were squinting against the hazy pain that filmed over his vision watched the three Slytherin slowly grab their wands from the floor and shuffle from the compartment, past Longbottom, who cowered away at their approach and then stepped cautiously into the compartment once the trio had vanished from sight.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Neville chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully, glancing between Ron, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Malfoy. Should he actually stay? He didn't want to be this close to the blond Slytherin, but from the ashen look to the Malfoy's visage, the Longbottom suspected he wouldn't be much of a threat.  
  
Making up his decision, the splendidly-altered Gryffindor took a second, cautious step into the compartment, smiling his same bashful smile at the group of Gryffindor and single Slytherin. If his smile and personality was most the same, the rest of him was not. The Gryffindor looked like a completely different person than he had been when he stepped onto the Hogwarts Express that spring to return home to his overbearing grandmother.  
  
The plump seventeen-year-old was no longer plump, and instead of roundness, he was pure muscle. He had been out in the sun for hours upon hours during the summer it seemed, for his flesh was bronzed, giving him a robust appearance like a Greek demigod who had trained in the heights of Olympus. He had had his final growth spurt, which had helped him look like he had lost more pounds than he had. His eyes were the same bright hazel, but his dirty-blond locks had lightened out in the sunlight, the curly tresses falling to his chin and making a sharp contrast against his suntanned skin.  
  
His smile was the same bashful smile, and his eyes had the constant gleam of hopeful acceptance that the hazel orbs always had shimmering within their brownish-green depths. And when he spoke, his voice hadn't changed; it had the consistent, uncertain lilt to it that it always had. "Would you all mind if I sat with you?"  
  
Silence reigned and enclosed him, becoming a haze that wrapped its fatal limbs around him and reached through his softly smiling mouth into his form to grasp at his heart, all too ready to crush the wildly beating organ in one swift blow if there should be a negative reply from the group.  
  
At last someone spoke, but the noiseless hands remained lightly on his heart, the invisible fingers almost caressing the fragile body part, waiting to see how this played out.  
  
"Neville?" The soft, incredulous name ghosted from between parted lips as emerald green eyes gazed at the other boy as if seeing him for the first time.  
  
Neville Longbottom simply offered Harry Potter the same self-conscious smile he always had.  
  
(To be continued  
  
Author's Notes: I know some of you might be annoyed at my altercation of Neville's looks, but I think if his granny whipped him into shape, he could look good-looking. I hold no tuck whatsoever to the movies and so I don't picture him like the sweetie who plays him in the cinemas. Plus, his transformation was inspired by the fact that this round-faced boy did the exact thing last summer. Now he's oh so hot. *drools and then gets control of herself*  
  
Also, I just thought I'd point out that this entire chapter was written in the span of 11:10 PM to 1:29 AM. Why must my muses reign supreme at night? *yawns tiredly and hopes her parents don't wake up when she creeps upstairs* Please remember to review!  
  
~Cinaed) 


	3. Part Three

(Author's Thanks: A17, Cye's Girl, Ayako, and Andrea for reviewing.  
  
Summary: Draco Malfoy has joined Dumbledore's side as the Final Battle draws near. The wizarding world is in chaos, but so is Draco's heart and mind. The Malfoy must confront his demons if he's truly going to be loyal to Dumbledore, and a certain Weasley has been recruited by Dumbledore to help him confront them.  
  
Disclaimers: All of these characters belong to Rowling, who (surprise!) isn't me. Look, people, if I was Rowling, I'd be rolling around in a pool filled with money instead of writing fan fiction.. I mean, really.  
  
Warnings: This story contains slash. This means male/male relationships. If homosexuality or bisexuality is against your religion or simply against your ethics, please don't read this. If you do and send a flame, I will show it to Lady and laugh at your stupidity with her. Thank you.  
  
Author's Comments: Oh, and the *-*-*-*-*-*-*-* symbols mean that we've switched to another person's POV. The story will stay in third person, but which each of these symbols we can delve deeper into the mind of that person. Oh, you'll see what I mean once you start reading. Enjoy the latest part of Convinced of My Deception!  
  
~Cinaed)  
  
Convinced of My Deception  
  
By Cinaed  
  
"What-what did you do?" Ron's incredulous question hung in the air as Neville's smile faltered and the invisible fingers tightened on his heart.  
  
"I-I went to a fitness center and Gran h-had me work with a t-trainer to get me-me into s-shape." The uncertain lilt had become a stutter, and those hazel eyes lowered to the floor as his heart twisted painfully in his chest. Then the words Neville had been secretly longing to hear filled his ears.  
  
"You look amazing, Neville!" Hermione's declaration caused a blush to grace that bronzed visage, and his hazel eyes rose to see the quartet beaming at him, most of them not quite over their shock but willing to smile nonetheless.  
  
"Really?" was whispered softly, hopefulness shimmering in those expressive eyes once more. "I-I know I lost a few s-stones-"  
  
"You look amazing, Neville," the Head Girl stated firmly, pleased to note the thrilled flush which lightened that bronzed face with its pale pink color.  
  
Beyond the group, a low, mocking groan was uttered. "Gods, I think I'm going to be sick. Sodding gits, do you all really think I'm that interested in Longbottom's transformation?"  
  
Ron, Ginny, and Hermione simply glared in Malfoy's direction as Harry continued to gawk at the blushing Gryffindor. The Boy Who Lived seemed to be in shock, his emerald gaze stunned as he continued to take in Neville's altered appearance.  
  
"You-you look great," Harry finally muttered, a dark blush staining his cheeks as he realized the stupidity of his words.  
  
Neville only beamed in response, his pink flush darkening to a deep scarlet.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Draco let out another groan at Potter and Longbottom's idiocy, ignoring the Gryffindor gaggle's various glowers. "Sod off," he bit out against the pain, raising his wand and muttering a blessed spell. The enchantment made a red curtain spring up to block the annoying scene Longbottom was causing.  
  
"Lousy bastard of a git and a whore," he heard the older Weasley growl furiously, followed by Granger's shocked, "Ron!"  
  
"Weasley," Draco called through the curtains, "you need to go get laid. And, by the way, you only got one out of four. My mother wasn't a whore, my parents were married when I was born and to each other no less, and my father /is/ a git. We'll just have to see whether I'm a lousy Head Boy or not." Before the Weasley could respond, the Malfoy murmured a silencing spell. Sighing in relief at the sacred hush, the Slytherin leaned back, wincing from the agony.  
  
Damn Parkinson and her cronies. He'd get revenge, someday; vengeance for his mother took precedence. But, after all, a Malfoy always got his revenge.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Ron glared at the crimson curtain, desperate to get beyond that drape to the bastard within and to wring his bloody neck. Flashing cerulean eyes remained fixated on the screen as Harry seemed to get over his initial shock.  
  
"You really do look amazing, Neville," the black-haired seventh year said earnestly, smiling at the still-blushing teen.  
  
"T-Thanks." The reply was soft but heartfelt as those easy-to-read eyes radiated Neville's delight at the compliments. His flush diminished in a gradual color that faded from a bright pink back to the warm, golden natural hue of the flesh. The normally bumbling Gryffindor sat down next to Harry, as far away as possible from the curtain which hid a certain Slytherin from view. Aware that everyone's eyes were upon him, Neville offered them an affable smile. "How was everyone's summer?" he inquired, unknowingly completing the loop back to the original conversation that Draco Malfoy had interrupted.  
  
Yet it seemed as if Fate had ruled that the question would never be answered, for just then two familiar figures bounded into the compartment, flushed and grinning over some sort of victory.  
  
"Who would have thought that Parkinson was /horribly/ afraid of spiders?" The wicked grin on Seamus Finnigan's visage showed that the news had been used to terrify the Slytherin, even as his thick Irish accent sang out gleefully.  
  
His tall, dark-skinned companion wasn't quite as gleeful, but mischief danced in Dean Thomas' dark eyes as he added, "I hope she didn't kill the tarantula. Lee Jordan would be very mad at us."  
  
"Lee's tarantula is still alive?" The second youngest Weasley had finally been distracted from glaring at the drape, and now turned widened eyes upon the jovial duo.  
  
"Yes," the Irish lad informed him, his clear brogue still bright with laughter. "Or at least, it will be if Parkinson doesn't step on it with her enormous feet." The two friends snickered together.  
  
"Maybe you should go rescue it," softly commented Neville, and the two Gryffindor finally noticed him. Their eyes widened in shock.  
  
"Neville?" they exclaimed together, and the hazel-eyed youth was back to furiously blushing.  
  
"I-I lost a couple stones."  
  
"We can tell. You look wonderful," stated Dean, grinning at the other boy before he turned back to Seamus. "Maybe we /should/ go rescue the tarantula. Lee would be very annoyed if we managed to get it killed."  
  
The Irish youth grinned boyishly in response. "All right." His sky blue eyes flickered in Neville's direction as he added, "You look amazing, Neville. I wonder how many girls are going to be after you."  
  
With that parting comment, the duo vanished to rescue the tarantula from Parkinson's gigantic feet. Ron, meanwhile, returned his attention back to glaring at the curtain.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Noting that his best friend was otherwise occupied, Harry sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to recall what Neville's question had been. His clear emerald eyes went blank as he racked his brains before finally he smiled a slow grin in the Longbottom's direction.  
  
"My summer was all right," he declared, not wanting to comment on the fact that he had continually collapsed in agony over his scar during the summer. He wanted to keep that pleasant smile on his fellow Gryffindor's face for as long as possible. "How was yours, besides the daily torture of staying in shape?"  
  
"It was nice," softly admitted the hazel-eyed teenager, glancing down and not meeting the other boy's eyes. "One of my uncles tried to help me study in advance for Potions, but I accidentally turned him green."  
  
Harry couldn't help the snort of amusement that escaped him, and he could see a hint of an impish smile toying with Neville's lips. Had the other boy ever looked so mischievous or carefree? If he had, the Potter had never seen him during that time, but now he was glad that the Longbottom had a chance to be blithe and mirthful. It suited him.  
  
"I assume you turned him back to his normal color?" Hermione commented, sniffing in disapproval at the thought that anyone would leave a mistake like that unfixed.  
  
That brought Neville's head up, and his greenish-brown orbs were filled with complete innocence as he replied, "Well, no, Gran did that, but I learned not to mix dragon's blood with crushed beetle."  
  
"Always a good thing to know," Ginny teasingly commented.  
  
Harry realized that he hadn't even bothered to glance at Ron's sister when she had spoken; he had been too busy wondering how many hours Neville's grandmother had worked him to transform him into a golden-  
  
-Beauty. The brunet found that his cheeks were suddenly blazing with warmth at the term his mind had just used. Well, Neville /was/ handsome now, and just because he was another guy that didn't mean Harry couldn't appreciate the change. Right?  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Neville noticed that Harry was flushed once more, but didn't think anything of it as he replied to Ginny. "Yes, especially since that was an easier lesson to learn than when I put snake scales and bat's blood together."  
  
While Ginny and Harry looked blank (Ron was still glaring in the direction of where Malfoy was hidden), Hermione looked horrified. "But-but if you do that-"  
  
"Yeah, I was a frog for a few minutes. Luckily, Trevor didn't take offense."  
  
"A frog?" Neville noticed that Harry was trying very hard not to laugh, and grinned at the other boy. It was always nice to see the Boy Who Lived chuckling or smiling, considering what he'd been put through since he was only a baby.  
  
"I was a very cute frog. Gran told me so," he informed Harry, still grinning.  
  
Even as the other boy's laughter filled the compartment, Neville's gaze flickered over to Ron, who was still glaring at the curtain. "Um, Ron, are you going to stare at the curtain until we get to Hogwarts?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Even as Hermione smacked the Weasley across the back of his head, Ginny piped up. Her tone was curious. "You're taking Advanced Herbology this year, Neville?"  
  
The Longbottom nodded, the unfamiliar sensation of pride stirring in his chest at the mention of his favorite class. "Professor Sprout says she'd like me to spend the summer on an internship for Hogwarts, keeping the gardens in shape for next year," he informed them, knowing that the other seventh-years had probably been offered some sort of internship.  
  
"Really?" Ron broke his glare away from the crimson screen to blink at Neville. The Weasley's freckles stood out vividly as the teenager raised an eyebrow. "That sounds interesting."  
  
"Congratulations, Neville!" The Granger's voice was filled with delight. "We'll probably see a lot of each other then. Professor McGonagall asked me if I would stay on next year as a student teacher for Transfiguration." Hermione smiled and fingered her Head Girl badge as she spoke, unconsciously mimicking Percy's nervous tick.  
  
The two future interns glanced at Ron and Harry. However, the duet had decided that the floor seemed very interesting to study.  
  
A pair of emerald eyes and a pair of cerulean orbs examined the floor as the brunet and the redhead looked slightly embarrassed for a few seconds of silence. Finally, Harry admitted in a mumble, "I haven't been asked to do anything."  
  
"Neither have I," added Ron, and Neville saw the faint hint of envy on the Weasley's face as he added, "Of course, Harry, you're going to be snatched up by a Quidditch team as soon as you graduate."  
  
"I guess so," the Boy Who Lived agreed, but he didn't seem too enthusiastic about it. "It's hard to even think about after Hogwarts. I mean, we've spent almost seven years here." There was an almost melancholy tone to Harry's words, and the green behind his glasses were dark with a negative emotion.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Harry couldn't help the pang of sorrow that made his chest ache at the thought of leaving Hogwarts. The castle was the only home he had ever loved, and he didn't want to think about facing the world after Hogwarts. Even at the Burrow he felt uncomfortable, standing out amid the redheads.  
  
"You could always travel around." The suggestion made him blink, and he glanced up to see Neville smiling at him. "After all, I'll bet you've never been to America."  
  
"Who would /want/ to visit America?" Ron snorted, shaking his head and looking relieved at the change of topic. "All the wizards and witches there are crazy. I think Harry should visit some places in Europe first. Like Germany."  
  
"Or Wales!" The exclamation erupted from Ginny, who blushed when everyone glanced at her in bewilderment. "I've been reading books about Myrddin."  
  
"Myrddin?"  
  
"That's Welsh for Merlin. You know, of King Arthur's Court?"  
  
"He could go to France," Hermione suggested. "I know they've got tons of history about wizards and witches-"  
  
"-and he /has/ to go to Belgium because of the chocolate-" Ron interrupted as if his best friend hadn't mentioned education.  
  
"-or he could go to Spain. Spain has lots of history-"  
  
"-and Italy for the ice cream-"  
  
Harry's laughter finally ended the ranting of his two best friends. "Apparently you've all decided I'm going to do a grand tour of Europe once I graduate, for the history /and/ the sweets."  
  
"Don't forget the Netherlands!" Neville added, smiling a tad mischievously.  
  
The brunet grinned and looked mock-solemn. "I swear that I will not forget the Netherlands, Neville."  
  
"So you're actually gonna do it?" Ron declared, a hint of surprise tingeing his words.  
  
"Why not? Travel around Europe for a year, get some life experiences, it sounds like a plan to me."  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Hermione smiled when she saw that Harry's eyes were lit with an actual excitement for the future. When had the Potter lived for tomorrow and not just for today? On the Hogwarts Express, it was easy enough to forget that Voldemort was roaming the world and killing randomly. How Fudge was still the Minister, she'd never know.  
  
"You'll have to send me letters when you go to Spain, France, and especially Wales and Ireland. Those two lands are filled with ancient magic," she declared, earning a grin from her best friend. "I could use some of that information for my first year at teaching."  
  
"Bloody hell, 'Mione!" Ron groaned, and the Head Girl frowned in his direction. "I pity Ginny and the rest of your future students!" His tone was filled with obvious sympathy for the imminent learners, and the brunette's frown deepened.  
  
"Ronald Weasley, I-"  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
As his two best friends began to argue fiercely, Harry bit back a sigh and cast an understanding glance in Ginny and Neville's direction. Both of them were wincing as Hermione's voice rose to a shout.  
  
"So, Neville, do you think you'll be a Herbology teacher at Hogwarts someday?" The Boy Who Lived watched the deep flush that spread across the other boy's face at the question.  
  
"M-Me? A t-teacher?" The lilting way that Neville spoke had become a fumble for words, and Harry mentally kicked himself as he gazed into the boy's widened eyes.  
  
"You'd be a good teacher, Neville. You're understanding and patient. Not at all like Snape." Ginny's tone was gentle, and the brunet wondered what Ron's sister was thinking as she smiled at the still-blushing Longbottom.  
  
"I-I don't think-" Neville faltered, his flush deepening so that his golden flesh was now a pale rose hue.  
  
"You could always travel around and get some world experiences like I'm going to," Harry suggested. "That would help prepare you for teaching. Plus, you'd have Hermione around."  
  
The brunet couldn't help but feel slightly pleased with himself as Neville's eyes lit up with excitement. "I could go to Russia during the fall. I know there's a special type of plant there that-"  
  
Shaking his head a little, Harry was nonetheless more than willing to listen as the suddenly confident Longbottom rambled about the various plants in Russia and what sort of antidotes a wizard could make out of those plants. After all, he wasn't any worse than Hermione. In fact, Neville was so energetic about what he was speaking of that Harry and Ginny actually grew interested, and their conversation lasted until the end of the journey.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Ron glanced up at the train began to slow, his cerulean gaze betraying his confusion. Had he really been arguing with Hermione for that long? Blinking, the redhead twisted in his seat and noticed that the red curtain was still up, shielding Malfoy from view.  
  
The bloody git had better be ready when that screen came down because-  
  
"Ron!" Distracted from his dark thoughts, he turned towards Hermione, who was rolling her hazel eyes in exasperation. "We're almost to Hogwarts. Do you have your things ready?"  
  
Locks of cerise fell in front of the Weasley's freckled visage as he scowled. "Of course, 'Mione. I'm not stupid." He kicked his trunk for emphasis, earning a frown from the brunette.  
  
"I was just /asking/!"  
  
The defensive tone made Ron's blood boil, and the redhead had to clench his teeth to keep from saying something he'd regret later. Why was Hermione bothering him when all he wanted to do was kick Malfoy's a-  
  
"Um, the train stopped." Neville's hesitant statement distracted both of the Gryffindor, and Ron was able to concentrate on something other than getting revenge on Malfoy now that Crabbe and Goyle weren't around to defend him. That is, until the Longbottom voiced, "Should someone tell Malfoy?"  
  
"No," Ron snapped, shaking his head so violently that he grew dizzy for a moment. "He'll figure it out on his own."  
  
Sure enough, the curtain began to disintegrate as they spoke. Ron had opened his mouth to begin a tirade against the git, but froze at the sight of his enemy.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Draco had felt the train slow and then stop. After muttering the spell that would make the curtain disappear, the blonde had risen to his feet in a quick bound.  
  
His broken rib reminded him that the action was /not/ a good idea, and he doubled over. A pained sound rasped its way from his throat as the agony knifed him through. Gray was hidden from the world as his eyes squeezed tightly shut in a futile motion.  
  
Perspiration broke out on his forehead as the Slytherin bit his lower lip and attempted to straighten. This time the gesture was cautious and gradual, and only a dull soreness assaulted him.  
  
Raising a hand to his forehead and realizing that he was trembling, it was only then that Draco noticed that the Gryffindor gaggle was gawking at him. A familiar, contemptuous sneer flitted onto his face, and he snarled, still breathless, "What're you all looking at?"  
  
"Just a Slytherin," snapped the older Weasley, his smoldering blue eyes focused on him, though there was an odd emotion in the Gryffindor's eyes that made Draco uneasy. The emotion /couldn't/ be compassion.  
  
"If you don't like what you see, Weasel, get off the train." Lifting his head in defiance of the numerous Gryffindor, the blonde grabbed his small trunk and attempted to drag it behind him.  
  
Even using the arm on his good side was a horrible idea, and Draco hissed. Another startled noise of distress forced its way through his clenched teeth before dark spots appeared in his vision. Damn-  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Harry and the other Gryffindor watched as Malfoy's porcelain visage contorted and became an ashen hue before he swayed on his feet. Any trace of arrogance had vanished as his knees began to tremble underneath him.  
  
For a moment, the Slytherin almost seemed like a rag doll that was failing wildly. His hand released the trunk he had been attempting to drag before his gray eyes rolled up towards his skull. As a final sound of annoyance escaped his lips, Malfoy crumpled towards the ground, unconscious.  
  
He would have struck his head upon the floor had Hermione not whipped out her wand and shouted an incantation that left the Malfoy floating face-down in the middle of compartment.  
  
"Well, damn." The mumbled words made Harry glance at Ron, whose eyes were locked on the hovering figure. There was an odd expression on the Weasley's face, as if he was having an inward struggle over something.  
  
"I guess I'll grab his trunk and we'll take him to Madam Pomfrey?" Ginny suggested hesitantly, her eyes flickering around at the assorted Gryffindor.  
  
"Well, someone else is going to have to keep this spell on him because I have to get to the Sorting." Hermione paused, and then added as if she wasn't quite sure whether or not to laugh, "Of course, so does he."  
  
Harry shook his head and mumbled the same spell Hermione had, making the prone form rise slightly before the Head Girl released her spell. His eyes watched Malfoy's visage for any sign of the Slytherin waking up, but the blonde seemed to be out cold.  
  
"Well," Ginny declared at last, "we'd better hurry if you all want to see your final Sorting."  
  
- TBC - 


End file.
